Best Feminist Picks of 2008

If you believe in celebrating human made measurements of time, then New Year’s Eve is one of the most exciting days of the year. Beside the usual parties and rallies in the street, it’s a time of reflection, when many take the opporutunity to do life inventory and take vows to better themselves, their lives, and environment.

One of my favorite things to do at the end of the year is to put an arbitrary measurement on feminist news; events or people that changed me or the feminist movements for the better. We all know it’s not difficult to find the bad, so, I wanted to take the opportunity to showcase the brightest beams of light, the things that made a feminist smile wider this calendar year. There were many great moments in a feminist reviewed year, but here are my top three best feminist moments of 2008:

3. Beginning the Obama Era

There’s no question that this campaign year was historical. Most of mainstream media focused on the fact that Barack Obama is the first president-elect of color. And while that certainly brings a rush of excitement to my cheeks, there are underlying hopes I hold for the next president that surge past the color of his skin or multicultural background. I’m more fascinated by his intellect and the possibility of having a president who reads and LISTENS to both sides. Who knows what might happen to the Global Gag Rule or the Hyde Amendment now that we may have a leader who may understands that the not all issues are black and white, and need to be analyzed with a compassionate ear toward ALL women.

I’m not conflating Barack Obama with a miracle worker. I believe that leaders of our communities – local and national – prove wise when their ears are open to all sides. So far, Obama has shown a glimmering promise to be an advocate for the people; someone who believes in comprehensive sex education and sees that spending 1.5 billion dollars on abstinence-only programs may not be the best plan
for preventing unplanned pregnancies and reducing abortion rates by first educating our youth.
The future looks slightly better with Obama in the Oval Office. Here’s hoping.

2. VIVA LA Independent Media

There’s nothing that spells awesome more than feminist driven independent media. If you want to take a look at 2008 and search for evidence of feminism going strong, look no further than this very foundation of B-Word that surpassed their goals and succeeded in their fund raising. Same can be said for In Other Words, a feminist bookstore in Oregon, which recently raised enough money to keep their doors open.

While their futures remain uncertain, one message is abundantly clear: when organized and in need, feminist media can not only survive, but THRIVE during economically difficult times. It begs the question: how and why is that? How in these times do these organizations push through and successfully fund raise?

Perhaps for US media consumers, times of financial crisis bring rare opportunities to recognize the valuable from the dispensable, the educational from the unnecessary. When push comes to shove, most feminist consumers of media identify independent media as a necessary and vital arm of the feminist movements. Without Bitch, ColorLines, Make/Shift and other independent publications, the stories of women are shoved further into dark corners. Emerging journalists, poets, and writers would have fewer opportunities to express and document the world from their fresh eyes without these outlets. Without In Other Words, Women and Children First, or feminist bookstores, the spaces for activists, musicians, community groups, and writers shrink even more. The tales of growth and sustainability of these independent publications and book stores give testimony that despite hard times, feminists support avenues of independent communication and want to hear the voices outside of mainstream media.

1. Melissa Harris-Lacewell

It’s hard for me to pick just one, but if I’m hard-pressed, here’s my opinion: the best moment for US feminists came from the undeniable Melissa Harris-Lacewell. If you’re wondering who exactly this woman is, well, let me refresh your memory. Almost a year ago, in January of 2008, the year started off with a feminist bang in a debate heard around the world. Gloria Steinem, a pioneer of second-wave feminism and “icon” in mainstream feminism, dipped her toes in a political pool to go swimming with Melissa Harris-Lacewell, an Associate Professor of Politics and African American Studies at Princeton University, a powerhouse of legal and political vernacular. This debate was aired shortly after Steinem wrote an article in the New York Times entitled, “Women Are Never Front-Runners,” in which she wrote about the limitations and division of Hillary Clinton’s gender and the unifying effect of Obama’s race. Steinem endorsed Hillary Clinton in her Op-Ed and called for unity:

The caste systems of sex and race are interdependent and can only be
uprooted together. That’s why Senators Clinton and Obama have to be
careful not to let a healthy debate turn into the kind of hostility
that the news media love. Both will need a coalition of outsiders to
win a general election. The abolition and suffrage movements progressed
when united and were damaged by division; we should remember that.

Harris-Lacewell – prepared, articulate, and calm – carefully and thoroughly challenged and ripped Steinem’s arguments about race and gender and dismounted the feminist icon’s with quotes such as this:

What I do agree with is that we ought to be in coalition. But I think
we’ve got to be in coalition on fair grounds. Part of what, again, has
been sort of an anxiety for African American women feminists like
myself is that we’re often asked to join up with white women’s
feminism, but only on their own terms, as long as we sort of remain
silent about the ways in which our gender, our class, our sexual
identity doesn’t intersect, as long as we can be quiet about those
things and join onto a single agenda. So, yes, I absolutely agree, we
must be in coalition, but it must be a fair coalition of equals.


Melissa Harris-Lacewell spoke more fervently and convincingly about the twisted agenda of mainstream feminism as any other feminist of 2008 (as I read or came across) in the US and brought to the table a voice so clear that it rocked the boat of feminists everywhere as they debated between Clinton and Obama. For that, and for the multitude of work she has done as a writer, professor, and advocate, Melissa Harris-Lacewell was the *best* moment and feminist for me in 2008.

Who or what moment made 2008 a great feminist year for you?

On the Road Again

To say our eating habits have been questionable for the past week would be the understatement of 2008. Since Christmas Eve, we have been snacking, nibbling, eating, and tasting everything that comes in front of us. Nick and I are now in Virginia, visiting my folks after a another trademark hurricane Christmas season. The travels are adding a few inches to our bellies. But, that’s what the holidays are for – a little indulgence.

Christmas Eve mass was spent at our parish where we got 2nd pew seats because Nick was Eucharistic minister and one of God’s top ten. As wife, I get a special view, too. We ignored the warnings to avoid the 4pm mass, which was rumored to be a madhouse with all the children attending, and I should have brought peanuts to feed the wild things. It was a gorgeous mass, but, woah…it was crazy.

From there, we went to Massillon, my old stomping grounds, and opened up gifts with my sister, brother, and their kids. We had a meal large enough for the US Army and barely put a dent in it. Nick and I camped out on their couches and were awakened at approximately 6am to a 3 year old loudly whispering, “Is Santa going to come through the chimney or the door?”

We stayed to watch the kids tear into their presents which included the largest toy dinosaur I’ve ever seen. A little around 8am, we took off for Russia. As every year, we attended the Cordonnier side and then the Borchers and made off with great gifts including a beautiful print out of a Cordonnier family tree, iTunes gift cards, a printer, food processor, a new camera lens, and hefty gift certificates. Nick received, twice, his request for a DVD copy of A League of Their Own. HOORAY!

The Borchers family had an unusual debacle of cinematic proportions when we went to see Valkyrie, the newest Tom Cruise movie. We ended up splitting up, uneven orders of popcorn, and a disastrous miscommunication about seating. The results were Kelly declaring it one of the worst moments EVER and Nick straining his neck for a full minute to see if anyone was going to pass him a bucket of popcorn. Keith reappears from the bathroom just as the movie begins while Jay and I just decide to keep quiet and watch the previews. It’s one of those situations that doesn’t sound like a big deal but just is when you’re experiencing it. Lesson: always communicate before going into a family movie experience as to who is sitting where, how much popcorn should be ordered, who needs to go to the bathroom, and never ask questions if you get separated.

We all headed to Columbus to sadly watch the OSU Buckeyes get a spanking from West Virginia’s bball team and then headed to Champ’s for dinner. Kelly’s husband, Tim, was nearly drowning in excitement to watch the UFC fights that night and so we headed off to his place for good night of Bud Light and UFC blood. Happy Holidays!

Nick and I took off Sunday morning for Virginia, where we are now, to spend time with my parents who couldn’t make it up to Ohio for the holidays. It’s amazing outside – a near 65 degrees – and Nick and I took a hike this morning for fresh air. It feels like the middle of April.

We’ll be here until the new year to help celebrate a few things: our nephew Jesse turns the big TWO today. Tomorrow, my folks celebrate their 37th wedding anniversary, and, of course, we’ll toast 2009 in together as well.

Cheers to the holidays and safe travels!

The Cookie Monster

My sister Carmen and I tried to do something creative to take my medicated mind off the pain. So we decided to make Christmas cookies.

This was actually more of her baking and my watching TV and then hobbling into the kitchen to help decorate.

They were the most hideous looking things I’ve ever created.

I had to hold onto my stitches because we were laughing so hard at how ugly they were.

Winner in picture.

Letter #3

Dear Veronica,

It’s Saturday morning and two days since my surgery to “spiff up” my ovaries to someday have you.  Darling, I feel like someone rammed a spatula into my stomach and starting smacking everything red.
What was supposed to be an hour and fifteen minutes took over two and a half.  Much to my amusement, I learned that your father was devouring any reading material possible in the lobby and then switched to TV when NO ONE came out to tell him why I, his wonderful wife – the mother of his future children – was still in surgery.  Poor guy.  You know how he hates to be out of control.
Alas, Dr. Liu came out and told him these words, “It was complicated, but successful.”  Apparently, there was enough scar tissue to wrap all of eastern Europe in its own casserole and needed to be removed from my insides.  That extended as south as you can go in my uterus and ovaries into my northern stomach region.  The stitches around my belly button are as sore as sore can be.  It feels like they reorganized my entire reproductive and digestive system.
On a funny note, I am passing gas like it is my job.  To see as much as possible through a small camera and light, the doctors blew up my body during surgery.  Some was still in there after the procedure which is why my belly looked like I was 7 months pregnant when I left the hospital, and it leaks out every 20 minutes or so.  I’ll take a teaspoon sip of water and belch like I just ate an entire plate of Italian food goodness.  I’ll take one step and leave a wind of gas behind me.  It makes me giggle, then I grip my belly because it’s painful to laugh.
Your father is trying his best to be everything to everyone these days and I watch him from the couch, or bed, doing laundry, cleaning up, washing dishes, trying to get me DVDs I’d like to watch, and sprinting to Pearl of the Orient for my scallop and shrimp lo mein.  About two weeks ago, I came down with a common bacterial infection that put me in the worst mood. Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with strep.  Then I had this surgery and am farting and burping like a mindless second grader.  All in all, I wonder how your father still manages to sit at my bedside and whisper, “my beautiful bride,” into my ear while I am waking up or how he runs his hands into my hair and looks at me with a longing to feel better.
I wish that for you, my love.  I wish for you a soul who will love you tirelessly and without knowledge of rest.  The way your father loves me is a gift from I don’t know where.  I just know that I want you to someday find it in a person who is endlessly fascinated by your thoughts and post-surgery farting habits.  Someone who looks at pictures of your tender ovaries as if they were pictures of God’s face.  Most of all, I hope your father and I set an example for you of what is possible in this world.  
It IS possible to love someone so much that it feels like a miracle.
Love,
Mom

This is Me on Drugs

I had surgery yesterday.

I am in recovery now, about 60% “with it” as the anesthesia continues to wear off and the painkillers begin after the upteenth trip to the pharmacy.

Let me explain.

Back in 1999, the summer before my junior year at Xavier, I had a big surgery, the kind where they actually open you up, to remove ovarian tumors and cysts that were causing sharp abdominal pain. After biopsy, the report read BENIGN and confirmed they were dermoid tumors – relatively harmless, usually benign, but complicating the life of women like me nonetheless. I fully recovered and healed and went on my merry way of life.

After I got back from the Philippines, I went hunting for a good doctor and went through the whole assessment testing, which included an ultrasound given my medical record. According to my results, things looked a little fuzzy around my ovaries again and my doctor began consulting with a specialist. Nick and I started meeting with doctors over the past two months and they recommended Laparoscopy to take a look inside and remove anything that shouldn’t be there – scar tissue from my previous surgery and these new growths that are being spotted again.

Laparoscopy
pretty much reminds me of a three armed Inspector Gadget like person sticking one hand – camera and flashlight device – right below my belly button, and then two hands on each side of my waist which are like robotic hands to manipulate my organs and remove anything the doctor deems problematic.

Simple enough.

So, around October, my doctors told me I’d probably need this but a billion reasons to wait came up. First I needed to do additional appointments with another doctor who would be doing the surgery. That took 5 weeks. And then December started getting crowded. And then no operating rooms were available. And then insurance compatibility came into question. And then Sunday night I had 102 temp with a case of strep. With antibiotics, the doctor at urgent care wasn’t sure if I’d be able to have surgery. We placed a frantic call to my doctor/surgeon. He said as long as we tell the anesthesiolgist, we should be ok.

FINALLY though, it all came to fruition yesterday. After all the months of waiting and getting sick earlier this week, it was finally here.

My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, December 17 at 1:30 and we arrived an hour early like they suggested. I had been so ready for this surgery, I didn’t really feel all that nervous and I knew it wasn’t go to be as extensive as the one I had almost 10 years ago. So, Nick and I hung out, admiring my name on the wipe board and gave the socially awkward nurse a new name – George. One, he looked like George Kostanza from Seinfeld and two he was a bit like George O’Malley from Grey’s Anatomy.

Dr. Liu, the chairman of some uber important department at Case Western and supposedly the best in his field, was my surgeon. Grateful isn’t a strong enough word when you have excellent healthcare and benefits. While he doesn’t have a lick of Dr. McDreamy/Patrick Demsey in him, he was a thorough and surprisingly giggling doctor. At first, I was taken aback by his constant smiling and small laughs that followed everything he said, but Nick seemed to like it. He thinks anytime a doctor is not somber it shows your case is not that serious.

The nurse looked disapprovingly at my nose and said, “You’ll have to take out all body piercings,” but her look said, “WHY DO YOU YOUNG PEOPLE HAVE TO BE SO RADICAL?”
I asked if there was anyway to keep it in because I was afraid of the hole closing. You’d think from the look she gave me that I asked for a push of crack before I went under.

Anyway, the narcotics and drugs started pouring in around 1:50pm and the last thing I remember is watching a needle go in and a doctor’s voice say, “this is a narcotic, it’s going to feel like I gave you a shot of tequila…” and Nick saying, “Oh, it won’t take much, believe me…” and then laughter. I felt my eyes roll into the back of my skull and the doctor yelp, “Woah!” as I slumped and don’t remember anything else.

I awoke as they were prepping me in the O.R. and noticed it was all men fussing over me and tucking in my arms really tight at my side and wrapping me with blankets. I wished someone would talk to me as I started seeing little shapes in the air float around. One of the last things Nick said to me was that if his mom had been there as the nurse, she definitely would’ve talked to the patient, but everyone was too busy being nurse, doctor, or anesthesiologist to make small chatter. Too bad.

Then I was knocked out again.

I awoke to a nurse calling my name and feeling like a train ran over me. She was asking if felt alright and I nodded thickly, wanting to see Nick but not having ability to move. Something was up my nose and I felt like I was the only person in the hospital.

She leaned over and semi-yelled, “Would you like to take a nap?”

I tried to muster the strength to yell back, “Yeah if you stop screaming in my ear. I had tumors removed from my ovaries not my ears.” But I just nodded and went back into a dream world.

I awoke to find Nick and my sister. And something in my right eye.
I could barely talk or walk to the bathroom, but felt like there was a grain of sand tucked behind my eyelid.

It was around 8pm by now and I thought I’d be home by 6pm. It was taking much longer than we anticipated. It was right around that time when I realized I was hungry. I wasn’t permitted to eat since dinner the last night and felt weak and nauseated from my empty stomach. Nick placed a graham cracker on my lips and I took a bite.

It might have been the drugs. It may have been the fact I was so hungry I could have eaten a hippo, but I tell you, that graham cracker exploded on my tongue with flavors I’ve never experienced. The honey and sugar melted all over my tongue and coated my dry mouth. And the ginger ale! The sweetness waved over my teeth and I thought it tasted like heaven. My taste buds were reborn. I wanted to savor it.

In the meanwhile, lovely nurse Julia who I didn’t rename because I liked her pulled some doctor from boofoo to look at my eye. The pain was worsening and he took one look and said I’d have to see an opthamologist to diagnose it. Thanks genius. I think my 3 year old nephew could have given that medical advice. The best part is that he was walking away as he said it. Nice attitude.

He came back and said to the nurse, “Well, just say that I examined her and it could be something. It could be nothing. You won’t be able to find an opthamologist at this hour (harr, harr, he laughed – what the hell is so funny about that? I have a grain of sand in the back of my eye – how comfortable do you think THAT is).”

The he says, “Maybe conjunctivitis.”

That’s when I said in my head to myself because my lips were immobile, “Get this fool out of here. Even I know it’s not pink eye and why in the hell would I have pink eye after I wake up after surgery.”

He looked at me for once, “How do you feel?”

Pissed off at this Dr. Faux, “Terrible.”

Lovely nurse Julia privately didn’t like the doctor either. She kept saying it wasn’t right to send me home in pain if it was caused by my surgery and didn’t give me meds for it. She proceeds to call all these different doctors – all of whom, I’m sure – are eating their roast beef dinners in their condos or lake front houses. Dr. Liu, my surgeons is finally reached and gives a possible diagnosis that makes sense: corneal abrasion.

During the procedure it’s possible that my right eye wasn’t completely closed and without the lubricating protection of a blink or being fully closed, the gas used to pump up my body during the procedure had caused slight damage.

Fine. More drugs.

At this point, I feel old.

The eye drops feel like I threw rubbing alcohol into my eye and I nearly screamed in shock when they coated my eye. Nurse Julia, “Yeah, that’s definitely an abrasion if it hurts.” Great.

More drugs to combat nausea.

More graham cracker heaven and ginger ale.

We drive home.

It takes me eons to get on the living room couch and ask Nick for a strange compilation of foods: graham crackers, milk, peanut butter, banana. mashed potatoes, green beans.

I have no idea what that’s about, but he writes everything down and jets off to the store while I am falling asleep sitting up.

The drugs are messing with my brain. I wake up three times with my arms in front of me, wacking the air and vision of neon parakeets flying in front of my face. I’m yelling, “No! No!”

Poor Nick has to deal with his psychotic wife who has delusions of a parakeet and needs mashed potatoes.

This is the prognosis that Nick gave me from my doctor:
The surgery was much more complicated than expected, but it was successful. There was considerable scar tissue from my previous surgery which took a long time to remove. Small dermoids were removed from my right and one larger one was removed from my left. The procedure, which he first estimated to take 1 hr and fifteen minutes took over two and a half. Poor Nick was in the waiting room with no one informing him of what was taking so long until George Kostanza/O’Malley came in to tell him everything went well. That was five minutes before the doctor came though. Nice effort, George.

So, right now, I’m in a lot of pain and keeping my mind busy so I don’t think about it.
We thank everyone for their support and prayers. Recovery time should be about two weeks. I’ll be able to travel for the holiday but will be sitting most of the time and steering clear from the stairs.

And just as 2009 arrives, I’ll be as good as new.

Again, thanks to all for their prayers and well-wishes. Once I’m off the drugs, I can thank you properly in person.

LBJ




I went to my first Cavs game last week.

My brother, Fran, has season tickets and they were mighty good seats, too. As a season ticket holder, he was able to bring me out to the floor and I was able to touch the floor for good luck.

Lebron is simply a beast. Incredible. Superhuman. He’s a beast. I was able to snap some good pics of him. I was in awe the whole time.

Letter #2

Dear Veronica,

This has been a week that you must know about.

First of all, my beloved ob/gyn decided to throw me to a specialist five miles away because I am going to need surgery. Dr. David decided that my ovaries need to be “spiffed up” and thus need a laparoscopy. In a nutshell, it’s like Inspector Gadget is going to go in there and remove any scar tissue from my last surgery in 99 and to remove another sprouting dermoid tumor.

All of this in your name, my sweet.

Your father is quite anxious at the doctor’s office. He makes ridiculous comments and tries to make me laugh. I shake my head at him to stop and I feel like a principal telling a misbehaving 10 year old to shut his mouth.

My other doctor, Dr. Liu seems quite optimistic about the surgery and I felt he was nearly giggling at inappropriate times when I asked a question. Your father thought laughter was a good sign; it means we’re not going to be the 12% of couples whose efforts to have a child are saddeningly null. Laughter from doctors, your father contends, means we have minimal to worry about.

My mouth was set in one straight line, unamused. THIS IS SERIOUS BUSINESS, don’t they know that? Of course, I ended up stuffing a smile back when doc was examining me and inserted a strange looking instrument into my vaginal canal and showed me my empty uterus and fuzzy looking ovaries with strange masses around them. He, your pops, and a medical assistant leaned in and studied the screen like the state lottery numbers were popping up and they were going to win a 300 million dollar pot.

It struck me at that moment, my dear, that the world rests on the shoulders of woman who go through extensive circumstances to have a child. I have been thinking through how far in this process I want to go and decided I will give it my all to have you for about a year or two and likely will stop before Dr. Liu suggests in vitro. I think at that point, I’ll look into adoption.

Last night I went to bed feeling sick to my stomach. I ended up sleeping for about 14 hours today and then went to urgent care. Strep throat was my diagnosis. I was so sick and frustrated. It seems the universe does not want me to have this surgery. First, I waited two months to see a specialist and then it was nearly canceled because of insurance coverage and now strep. I’m determined, though. I hope you can someday appreciate what we’re going through to someday welcome you into this world.

But, Dr. David, Dr. Liu, your pops, and I, are highly optimistic that all of this is going to work. I took my first prenatal vitamin on Thursday and nearly squealed with excitement. It tasted like acidic garbage, but the thought of it making you a nice red womb to float around in and feeding you into a healthy body make it worth it. I’m going into surgery in three days and I’m hoping to start the most amazing journey of my life shortly after the new year.

Love,
Mom

Stroll Down Memory Lane

It is the end of the year and I always right a Year in Review. That probably won’t be posted until we edge toward New Year’s Eve, but going back even further than a year, I was thinking about how much has happened to my life, Nick’s life, our life since we smashed cake into each other’s faces and our guests started taking bets who would win in a wrestling match. A lot has changed, especially this year.

Nick’s doctoral program, moving to Boston, moving to Cleveland, buying our first home, my trip to the Philippines, Nick’s new job, the garbage disposal…all these things have given us tremendous opportunities to grow and learn about ourselves and each other.

We thank God everyday for each of our friends and family members who have supported us this year. And while my Year in Review is still a few weeks away, we just wanted to take this time and say Thank You to all of you who have prayed for us, helped us move in anyway, and assist us in realizing our dreams.

So, thanks. (in a really, really big, Statue of Liberty kind of way)

(By the way, in case you don’t remember, or didn’t see our wedding cake fight, just know that I TOTALLY won. Look at his face if you need evidence.)

Thank You, Chicago!


I can’t believe I forgot to post this, but I had my first public reading last weekend!

make/shift magazine, for which I edit, had a public reading in Chicago and invited me to read some of my work along with four other writers. I was so excited! My first public reading.

Unfortunately, Nick was still getting over whatever bug he had left in his system and we thought it best for him to just get rest so he can fully recuperate. Bummer, though, because it was a thrilling experience.

I drove to Chicago Friday morning and stayed with an old friend who lives in the city. That night, I expected about 10-20 people to show. I figured the weather was FRIGID – about 4 people died over the weekend in Chicago because of the cold – and I expected most folks to stay in doors. Would you believe we had a wonderful crowd of 40 folks or so, all interested in hearing us read our work and talk about our magazine. Isn’t that lovely?

The weirdest moment came when someone asked me for my autograph. No joking. No shit.

My autograph?

“Would you sign it right by your name?”
Sure.
“Would you personalize it as well?”
Uh, ok.
Scibble, scribble – Thanks for your support, Lisa F-B.
“Can I contact you?”
Getting weird. Um, you can see my contact information on the website, my email is there.
“Can I send you something directly?”
No, that’s ok. If you ever have questions about the magazine or my work, you can email me. Like I said, email is the best way for me.
“All they have here is a p.o. box address. Can I have your real address?”
NO.
“I like your dress. It’s really cute.”

Ok, now I am walking away from the guy.

So, other than that tiny exchange, I was all smiles at the Women and Children First Bookstore. The rest of the weekend was picture taking and, sure enough, the backdrop of Chicago is a beauty. Interested in some pics of the city? Click here.